If you were worth a shit, you'd be able to pick the damn games!
[But he's only being salty for the sake of being salty. Naturally. For a moment, he glances off to the side, and it's amazing to see how legitimately intelligent he is when all he usually does is yell and bark and explode.] Stay here.
Don't fucking touch anything, and don't fucking snoop through my damn room, Halfy. [In one swift motion, he rises to his feet and heads for the door. He doesn't bother saying where he's going, even if Todoroki asks.
That's that. Todoroki is left in his room as the door clicks shut. It's not necessarily an eyesore. It's Bakugou at the essence of it: a weird mixture of jock and brain. The desk is sparse; Bakugou seems to do the bare minimum of work, but the work he does is excellent. There's books, something easy to get through without having to waste time writing. A laptop, the back covered in a few array of stickers on a different level of Edginess than Tokoyami. Bombs. Skulls and bones.
There's not much overwhelming color, and most things are black or grey or muted. It's very delinquent except for the few posters on the wall that stand as a beacon to his rigid ideal. Top hero. One poster has the top four heroes on it. One is actually All Might. Even if he's an ass, it seems he has his heart in the right place.
The phone on the table left behind buzzes. Even from Todoroki's angle, when the screen lights up, it's easy to see Kirishima's name. The phone buzzes several more times, but the top-most bubble definitely says, hey man, you weren't at dinner. what's up??
And then the front door opens suddenly. Bakugou comes back in with a dragon's hoard: the tank top is lifted, exposing his tight stomach from the ribs down. In the balloon of the tanktop is a collection of smaller drinking glasses. Ten of them, balanced precariously. The door slams when he kicks his shut with his foot, and he walks the stolen goods back over to the table where he crouches on his knees.]
Okay, fucking help me. You get five, and I get five.
when will hori make me retcon all this description
[But he's only being salty for the sake of being salty. Naturally. For a moment, he glances off to the side, and it's amazing to see how legitimately intelligent he is when all he usually does is yell and bark and explode.] Stay here.
Don't fucking touch anything, and don't fucking snoop through my damn room, Halfy. [In one swift motion, he rises to his feet and heads for the door. He doesn't bother saying where he's going, even if Todoroki asks.
That's that. Todoroki is left in his room as the door clicks shut. It's not necessarily an eyesore. It's Bakugou at the essence of it: a weird mixture of jock and brain. The desk is sparse; Bakugou seems to do the bare minimum of work, but the work he does is excellent. There's books, something easy to get through without having to waste time writing. A laptop, the back covered in a few array of stickers on a different level of Edginess than Tokoyami. Bombs. Skulls and bones.
There's not much overwhelming color, and most things are black or grey or muted. It's very delinquent except for the few posters on the wall that stand as a beacon to his rigid ideal. Top hero. One poster has the top four heroes on it. One is actually All Might. Even if he's an ass, it seems he has his heart in the right place.
The phone on the table left behind buzzes. Even from Todoroki's angle, when the screen lights up, it's easy to see Kirishima's name. The phone buzzes several more times, but the top-most bubble definitely says, hey man, you weren't at dinner. what's up??
And then the front door opens suddenly. Bakugou comes back in with a dragon's hoard: the tank top is lifted, exposing his tight stomach from the ribs down. In the balloon of the tanktop is a collection of smaller drinking glasses. Ten of them, balanced precariously. The door slams when he kicks his shut with his foot, and he walks the stolen goods back over to the table where he crouches on his knees.]
Okay, fucking help me. You get five, and I get five.